Many queer aboriginal Canadians juggle different aspects of their identity in order to fit in

Gina
Metallic doesn’t think anyone should have to choose between different
aspects of their identity in order to fit into the mold of the
conventional and socially acceptable.

And, she’s not going to anymore.

“I’m queer,” says Metallic, who is a Mi’gmaq woman originally from
Listagouche, Quebec. She is speaking to packed room at Montreal’s Native
Friendship Centre. “But, I’m also aboriginal, and these two things are
really important to me.”

While Metallic once felt the need to forfeit her aboriginal culture
in favour of her sexuality, she has come to realize that there is space
for her to embrace both. When addressing both native and non-native
people, Metallic identifies as two-spirit.

Depending who you ask, the term can be defined and interpreted in a
variety of ways. Generally, two-spirit people have long been considered
integral to indigenous society — and often held healing and teaching
roles within their communities. These roles differ greatly between
aboriginal nations, and have been diversely affected by colonization
over time.

Metallic says the term two-spirit expresses that she is part of a
sexual minority, being lesbian, while also implying that she belongs to
an indigenous community.

“The western world uses the word ‘queer’ as an umbrella term to
encompass all of the little labels that people either choose to take or
not, which is what I think two-spirited is — it’s like our umbrella
term,” she says, adding that the term ought to be used exclusively by
aboriginal people, and does not belong to anyone else.

Metallic only recently began embracing a two-spirit identity, and
hadn’t even heard of the term until she moved to Montreal in 2005.

Since then, she’s received an MA in social work from McGill
University, with her thesis focusing on two-spirit identity development —
an experience that has been enlightening, both personally and
professionally.

“Growing up in a normal community I wasn’t exposed to too much,”
Metallic says. “We didn’t really talk about gay people or gay things.”
She says her move to the city opened her eyes to a new, diverse array of
people, and offered her a potential to explore options no longer
limited to heterosexuality.

But, the move didn’t come without cost.

“When I started to go to the gay village in Montreal, I actually lost
my culture,” she says. “I felt like there was so much racism in the
gay community, so there was a need to reject my culture.”

Metallic says that through her own extensive research, she’s realized
that her experience of feeling the need to choose one or the other
—“full lesbian or aboriginal” — was not uncommon amongst two-spirit
people.While she felt like she couldn’t completely be herself in the
city, she also experienced a similar phenomenon when returning to the
reserve.

“I think there is more homophobia in communities that are located in
more rural areas,” she says. “They aren’t as exposed to as many
different types of people.”

Metallic says that while her maternal family embraced her
“two-spiritedness,” her paternal side hasn’t really spoken to her since
she came out.

Akwiratékha Martin is a language teacher from the Mohawk community of
Kahnawake, located just south of Montreal. He also identifies as
two-spirit, but his family and community are extremely accepting of his
identity. “I got very lucky with my surroundings and my people,” he
says. For Martin, though, his experience in the city wasn’t as easy.

“I didn’t fit in, it was really hard, because they didn’t understand
different aspects of my culture, I felt I had to explain myself all the
time.”

Martin believes that it is extremely important to participate in
one’s community, whether it happens to be located on a reserve or in the
city.

“That’s what two-spirited is about, it’s about giving back to the
community, and contributing to it,” he says. “Not to just be gay or be
lesbian, but to do your own thing — for me, my role was learning and
teaching my language.”

He says that as a two-spirit person it is important to be open to
dialogue, and be responsive to people’s curiosity, even when it may come
off as ignorant.

Metallic agrees, and she is adamant that improving education will
certainly ease the current struggles faced by two-spirit people. “In the
schools this is still very taboo,” she says, pointing to a lack of
literature and resources available on the subject of two-spiritedness, a
void that she believes is perpetuating the silence around it. “We need
more resources, to build a community, to hold events — we need to have a
spot in the pride parades, and we need an organization.”

Metallic thinks Montreal is lagging behind cities like Toronto in
terms of available material and community groups. “Until those things
are really set in place, I think people will continue to experience that
duality of choosing between the queer lifestyle and the aboriginal
lifestyle, without realizing that you can actually have both.”

The difficulty of juggling and potentially dropping different aspects
of one’s identity isn’t a struggle faced exclusively by two-spirit
people, but it is a challenge that stands to affect anyone belonging to a
minority.

“Each one of us has many identities that we try to manage in our
lives,” says Amal Elsana Alh’jooj, a scholar and activist. “’I’m a
mother, I’m a woman, I’m Palestinian, I’m Bedouin, I’m Israeli and I’m a
feminist.”

Those don’t all work harmoniously together, she says, noting that in
order to be accepted in society, something — or in her case, multiple
things — had to give.

“People who are oppressed, for the sake of the oppressor, need to be
one thing, when we become more than one thing it becomes a challenge for
them,” Alh’jooj says.

She came to Montreal’s Native Friendship to see how the aboriginal
population had dealt with this issue, as it was one that has similarly
affected her and many others in her home community. “So many people that
I know have given up,” she says. “I wanted to see how these people have
dealt with facing a national challenge, being aboriginal, but also
personal challenge in terms of their sexual orientation.”

The answer, vocalized repeatedly at the centre, is a need for open-minded dialogue and more education.

Metallic is doing her part in paving the way, be being vocal about
her identity, both on and off reserve. She was named 2013 role model in
her community, and her two-spirit identity was proudly plastered around
on posters in town. “If people are uncomfortable with it, that’s their
issue,” she says. “I’m not going to continue to hide myself, there is
nothing to be ashamed about.”